


Lullaby

by dalaire



Series: Lullaby [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-10
Updated: 1998-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalaire/pseuds/dalaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set shortly after "One," this was inspired by an acquaintance's idea of Tom singing a Klingon lullaby to a severely ailing B'Elanna.  Though written first, it is a sequel to "You know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

In the middle of the way there was a stone  
There was a stone in the middle of the way

There was a stone  
In the middle of the way there was a stone

I'll never forget about this happening  
in the life of my eyes very tired  
I'll never forget that in the middle of the way there was a stone

I'll never forget about this happening  
In the middle of the way there was a stone

  


_Hey?...What's going on up there?_

_...I was thinking about something Seven said._

_What did she say this time?_

_...Maybe I am scared of being alone._

_Are you still thinking about that?...Well, I guess that's like you, considering what you've been through._

_What about you?...I mean, are you scared, really scared of anything?_

_......I'm frightened of people leaving me.  That's no surprise, is it?  I'm scared to be left behind, left...alone....I guess we're not very different in that respect...._

_...You don't ever have to be afraid of being left again.  I swear, that will never happen._

_Thank you.  That means a lot to me._

_Well, I mean it._

_..._

_And you don't have to worry about being alone again....What?  What are you thinking now?_

**nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq**

  


"Well, I remember, when I was a little girl, before my father left, he used to sing to me at night.  There was this song he used to sing to me, every night.  A poem he translated into Klingon." 

B'Elanna turned over and into Tom's warm arm, smiling with the memory, cuddling her head into his neck.  "But Klingon?  No, I never really spoke it.  Just some words and phrases.  Basic stuff."  She laughed lightly.  "My mother used to say his translation was horrible, but I never minded it...God, I haven't thought about that song in a long time." 

Tom peered down to her hand.  Her fingers had begun to trace little lines on his ribs.  His own hand caressed her back as her warm skin, still slightly moist from their lovemaking, nestled against his, her body molding to him as if by nature.  Complete. 

He watched the pattern of her tracings, tiny circles made by her small, slim fingers.  For all her strength, she had such delicate looking hands..."How did it go?"  he asked, almost a whisper. 

"I barely remember it," she replied, quiet with memory. 

Tom nodded, settling himself into the pillow.  The steady hum of the ship lulled the silence; the sound of their slow breathing joined the hum; the warmth between them equaled, and the pattern of her fingers crept to a stop.  He felt his eyes begin to close as he relaxed, as he had come to do without thinking while in the arms of his mate. 

Then she began to sing. 

Softly, tentatively, searching through the distant memory, B'Elanna found the buried phrases. 

She sung as if embarrassed by her own voice. 

She sung like a frightened angel, far from home. 

As such, she did work her way through it, the Klingon words funny sounding with such a melody; likewise, they were strangely gentle on her relatively unpracticed tongue. 

Tom smiled at it all. 

And she finished with an unusually nervous giggle, which she buried into his shoulder.  She shook her head.  "I can't believe I did that.  You're a bad influence on me." 

He sifted his fingers into her hair, guiding her to look into his eyes.  When she did, he couldn't help but pause to gaze at her in the dim light.  Everything about how she looked just then -- her eyes, her little smile, the shape of her face, all devoid of make-up, her mussed up hair, how her fair shoulder curved so softly into the lean muscles of her arm, her pretty hand -- made a smile grow deep within him, made him wonder how it all could have happened to him, how he could've gotten so lucky. 

And then there was her voice, that song.  He'd never imagined her singing before.  Suddenly, he couldn't get the sweet sound of it out of his mind. 

B'Elanna's eyes darted from his eyes to his mouth, futilely searching that enigmatic expression he always offered when his mind was pleasantly set on something.  "What?"  she whispered. 

His smile grew a little, and he might have kissed her had he no request. 

"Sing it again?" 

She regarded him askance.  "You can't be serious." 

He caressed her cheek with his thumb, even as she turned her face down, laughing with disbelief.  "I am.  I like your voice."  He placed a kiss at her crown, rested his cheek against her soft hair.  "Please?" 

B'Elanna closed her eyes, drawing a breath, taking his scent with it.   


**He botlhDaq nagh tu'lu'pu'**

  


"Tom!  --shhh!"  B'Elanna's eyes shot wide, and she forced her nervous smile down.  "Will you stop singing that?" 

"I thought you liked it." 

"It's a fond memory," she admitted, "but you don't have to keep humming it in the middle of the mess hall."  She pointed her eyes to her food, picking at it with a fork.  "I never thought you'd memorize it." 

Tom grinned.  "Just another one of my hidden talents, Lieutenant.  Besides, it's pretty repetitive.  It's not so hard to learn." 

"I thought you had a secret agenda -- making me sing it over and over."  Her smile disappeared with her next thought.  "Well, I just wish you wouldn't share it with everybody." 

"Why?" 

She poked a mysteriously curled vegetable but did not eat it.  "I'd just like to keep it between ourselves."  Even in meeting his eyes, she couldn't train away the bite in her tone when she added, "It's our business, nobody else's." 

Tom stared at her, but the spark of pain he noticed softened his gaze immediately.  If there was something that'd long been a habit with her, it was her desire to keep things to themselves, though he did agree sometimes that their personal confessions should be private.  She had put the song in that ever-growing category.  It wasn't the worst they'd agreed on, he had to admit.  So, he gave a nod, a little grin.  "Okay, B'Elanna." 

Appeased, she set herself again to her meal, and her tone was much relaxed when she asked, "How long do you think it'll take?" 

"Hmm?  Oh, the survey?  I don't know.  It depends if we find anything worth picking up.  Just because we detect it doesn't mean we can collect it.  You know how it goes." 

"It'd be nice to have a fresh supply of tachyon particles." 

He laughed lightly at that.  "Oh?  Well, then I'll see what I can do.  Do you have a specific color in mind?  Red?  Blue?...Plaid?" 

B'Elanna grinned and shook her head, even if it relieved her that he was up for the mission.  He could get downright annoying, but she knew he was at his best when he made his first approach lightheartedly.  She felt her nervousness over his leaving fade then wondered when she got so protective of him.  She knew why, though, and the reminder replaced her smile. 

"I'll let you use your best judgment," she told him.  "And you'd better get the right size or else I'll make you return it." 

Feigning a wound, he replied, "How can I live with such constant pressure of pleasing such a slave driver?  I'm just not good enough for you, am I?" 

There, B'Elanna laughed.  She couldn't help it.  "Don't start that one again." 

"You're just no fun, B'Elan--"

"--Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Paris--"

Tom started at the plain voiced interruption then grinned anew at B'Elanna's reaction to it.  "Paris here." 

"We are prepared to leave.  Report to the shuttle bay." 

Tom smirked.  "Yes, _ma'am_..."  and he stifled a snicker at his B'Elanna's reaction to _that, _"...Paris out."  Putting his napkin aside, he stood enough to lean over to her.  "I'll see you later." 

"Only if you've got enough tachyons to please your demanding mistress," she quipped, wrapping her fingers around his. 

"Well, then," Tom whispered as he neared, "I'll just have to make sure I do...  won't I, my mate?" 

B'Elanna's smile grew even as he leaned down to kiss her.  He held their kiss an extra moment or so, liking how he'd put that.   


**nagh tu'lu'pu'**

  


The nebula was forgotten.  Their discoveries there were forgotten.  Also, he forgot completely about the token canister of tachyon particles in his hand as quickly as his smile had dissolved.  All that he knew at that moment was that he knew nothing mattered.  With but the registration of the older woman's expression, he knew... 

This was how Tom met his captain's ashen face.  He had never seen her wear that look, at least not when pointed towards him -- And why was she meeting him in the shuttle bay?  As his heart stopped, his blood drained, he knew what it meant... 

"Tom," and his name croaked from her throat before she cleared it, "there's been an acci--"

"B'Elanna," he breathed, utterly still. 

Janeway was quick to approach him.  "She's alive, Tom.  But...the Doctor can't guarantee--"

There was but a pause, and he used it to escape, dropping the canister as he did.  The captain followed him without thinking, forced to jog a little to keep up.  "Tom, wait!" 

But he didn't stop until the turbolift surrounded him.  He ordered, "Deck Five," just as she slipped in, and he couldn't seem to look at her.  Shots of pain rang through his numbness as her expression invaded the corner of his eye.  He felt a muscle strain in his temple as she opened her mouth. 

"I'm sorry," said the woman beside him.  Then, "The Doctor is doing everything he can."  But Tom didn't answer, didn't ask, didn't look at her or make any sign that he had heard.  He just waited. 

Janeway reached out to touch his arm and his eyes closed.  Somehow, the tears that had collected there did not drain.  He didn't want to be touched, either.  She drew her hand away. 

"Please, just let me go to her," he said, clutching at all the control he had.  "Just...let me be with her.  Let me stay with her.  That's all I want." 

The captain nodded once, and his eyes, intense with pain, found hers.  She nodded again.  "Permission granted"....   


* * *

  


He didn't ask what happened.  He didn't care, and he hardly heard a word of Chakotay's explanation.  The Doctor listed her injuries, how much of it was treated, how much was not.  To that, Tom listened wordlessly.  The Doctor explained the nature of her coma, the level of trauma she suffered, the effects of the warp plasma on her nervous system.  He could not give a prognosis beyond that. 

"I want to assist you in taking care of her," Tom said bluntly and stared at Janeway.  "You did give me permission to stay with her." 

Though that wasn't what she had initially meant, she looked at the Doctor and Chakotay in turns.  "I did give him permission." 

"I can't estimate how long she will be in this condition," the Doctor told her.  "I can't even guarantee...her survival at this point." 

"All the better reason I stay," Tom returned.  He turned his stare upon the man.  "With or without your permission, I'm staying.  I'm not leaving her...Please don't make this more difficult than it already is."  He looked at the commander, proud enough not to say the words, but desperate enough to plead with a look. 

To Tom's immediate relief, Chakotay gave a solemn nod.  "I'll arrange for Ivanovich to take over your duty schedule.  We shouldn't have too much need while we're investigating the nebula.  Doctor?"

When the Doctor frowned, the corner of his well-programmed eye caught the flick of Janeway's mouth, and again he felt the intensity of Paris' stare.  The idea was against anything he might have suggested.  But finally, the Doctor sighed and gave his assent.  "Very well.  You may stay, Lieutenant Paris." 

Still pale but his posture restored, Tom nodded his thanks and moved to the biobed without another pause or look at his similarly pained crew mates.  He couldn't think of them just then. 

He had seen the damage, but still had to brace himself to look at her.  Even so, he didn't hesitate to reach out to the one clump of hair that had not been irradiated in the plasma injector explosion.  It was a miracle she was the only one injured -- though it was just like her to dig into a problem when she saw it, which is precisely what she did when she read a fluctuation in the manifold. 

It was a miracle she was alive, and Tom had no real gods to thank.  He thanked her, instead, for turning the right way at the right time, for surviving. 

Dermal regeneration and replacement was needed on her limbs.  Those procedures the Doctor had planned for the morning, plus several more on her face and scalp over the course of days as--or if--her condition stabilized.  Her skin and hair had simply melted under the intense heat, her uniform, replaced by a thin blanket, had likely been burnt beyond recognition.  The slew of dermal patches seemed equally hot with work -- though Tom knew better.  The largest patch he could see covered the bulk of her ridges, where the skin had been completely torn away by flame.  Just beside it, a neural stimulator beeped steadily. 

The Doctor had mentioned it was a good thing she was unconscious at that point. 

Somehow her eyes had not been scarred.  It looked as if she had shielded them with her hand...that small, beautiful hand, brutally burnt. 

He had to remind himself she could feel no pain. 

He forced himself to believe that he would see those eyes open again, stare at him with that wit and intensity that he'd fallen so madly in love with. 

He steeled himself in that hope, for her sake, for his sake, for both of them. 

With that breath, he leaned over and kissed both lids, so gently he barely touched her.  "It's okay, B'Elanna, I'm here," he whispered, for her ears alone.  "I'm right here." 

Caressing the remaining wisp of her hair still, he couldn't help but grin as he fought back the tears that had threatened since he walked off the shuttle and saw the captain staring at him.  "And to think," he choked with a painful laugh, "we were considering requesting a little shore leave for the occasion...."   


**nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq**

  


B'Elanna had her favorite robe and the knotted blanket he'd given her.  Beside her bed were two tables.  One had a tray of medical items.  The other a tray of personal necessities, a vase of her favorite flowers and a stack of PADDs.  There was also a chair that was rarely empty since put in its position.  One of the PADDs was in use. 

"How are they?" 

"B'Elanna came through the operation without any difficulty," said the Doctor.  "But her condition is unchanged, I'm afraid....As for Lieutenant Paris, he's...talking more.  He did an admirable job assisting me again this morning.  I thought he might not be the best choice, but he did quite well."  The Doctor paused, looked out the opening of his office.  "He slept by her side again.  I couldn't move him." 

Janeway's eyes were locked on the couple, her thin mouth set firm, her eyes far softer.  Tom was reading to her, his voice quiet enough that she couldn't make out the words, but audible enough the know he was hurting.  He was trying.  He was fighting for both of them.  Janeway was almost glad she couldn't see his face. 

"Don't try," she said. 

"I can't have him--"

"Doctor, as difficult as this has been for all of us, try to fathom how this is affecting him.  You know as well as I do why he insists on staying.  It wasn't three days ago when the four us met, in this very room, if you recall.  No, I'd let him be as near to her as he needs.  We don't need him at the conn with the repairs going on.  Let him say." 

"But--"

"Please don't make me make that an order." 

Without waiting for a reply, Janeway moved out into the room and to Tom's side as he finished the reading.  Hearing her behind him, he turned.  Janeway felt her chest tighten at the pain that met her. 

She knew she had dreaded to see him.  But she never thought Tom's face was capable of such an expression.  His eyes were all but dead, near to grief but otherwise dry.  His mouth held no purpose, his body was unusually still.  There was no word for the hurt she witnessed. 

In spite of it, Janeway tried to smile, at least a little. 

"The Doctor told me the operation went well." 

Tom grinned as weakly as she had.  "Yeah, it did.  A few more grafts and she gets her hair back."  And with that thought, he breathed a short, ironic laugh.  "Actually, I think it's a good thing she's not awake right now.  She wouldn't be happy about losing her hair.  She's so particular about it..."  His grin faded; his eyes turned towards nowhere.  "I used to watch her brush it all the time, curl it under just right, and...."  He stopped, turned away. 

The captain did not press the pilot when he turned -- not towards B'Elanna, but to hide the tears that he had fought so well and somehow buried again. 

"Tom..."  she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.  He tensed against it, closed his eyes.  She left her hand where it was, though, tried to offer something.  But there was nothing she could say, she realized, nothing that could comfort him, except perhaps, "Is there anything I can do for you?" 

Without looking back, Tom reached up and wrapped his fingers around hers.  "No, Captain....Thanks.  I don't think there's anything anyone can do now but wait." 

Janeway swallowed hard, took a breath to chase it.  Tom's hand dropped back to the bedside, almost as lifelessly as...  "Harry wants to visit." 

"I won't stop him...though B'Elanna wouldn't want anyone seeing her like this.  Maybe tell him to wait a while?" 

She nodded.  "He's taking it pretty hard." 

"I know the feeling," Tom replied, but shook his head even as he said it.  Collecting a deep sigh to calm the strain of his control, he was quiet for a moment; then he said, "I don't know, maybe I'm being selfish, staying here and not being there for anyone else.  I swore I would never leave her behind, and she swore she would never leave me...I have to believe in that.  I have to do that for her.  I have nothing else to keep me going, but that." 

"Yes," Janeway said gently.  "B'Elanna made it clear to me, your...rights." 

"I know.  We'd discussed that.  But it's more than that...I can't be away from her right now.  I hope you understand that." 

"I understand, Tom.  Take as much time as you need." 

"That means a lot.  Thanks." 

Moving so that the captain's hand dropped away from his shoulder, Tom leaned over to the bedside table to choose another PADD.  He sensed her behind him then moving away. 

He waited another moment before looking back to B'Elanna.  He had already stopped flinching when taking in her appearance.  He could even offer her a little grin as he settled his elbows on the edge of the bed.  "Hope you don't mind medical texts," he whispered and thumped his thumb on the scroll.   


  


**not wanI' vIlIj**

  


_ What?!_

_Is it such a crazy idea?_

_Well, I guess not.  But I didn't...I never really thought to do it like that.  I know how it goes, but....Why are you suddenly thinking about this?_

_I thought that'd be obvious....Look, we want to keep some things private, right?  Not make our relationship the ship's business, but...I guess I want some things more concrete._

_More concrete?_

_...I need...I trust you, B'Elanna -- more than I've trusted anybody.  But, nothing's certain out here, you know?...I guess I need to have a guarantee, proof -- I'm not saying this right, and I know it....I want to stay with you, and I want to be sure...Damn...._

_...You want evidence that we belong to each other....I think I understand, but..._

_...Look, if you don't want to--_

_No!...I mean, I understand what you're saying.  It just never crossed my mind to go about it that way......Okay, Tom._

_...You mean that?_

_Yes._

_Really?  I don't want you to do it if you're not sure._

_Try me..._

_...I can't believe it...B'Elanna, really?_

_What's so hard to believe?  We did this before, you know._

_*You* did it before -- and you were under the influence, then._

_Well, I don't know how much I meant it then, but I mean it now....Yes, I want to do this._

_...B'Elanna, I want to, too.  I want you more than I've wanted anything...._

_Ahh......Tom, do you...do you know what to do?  I mean, there is a specific -- Oh!...I guess you do...._

_..._

_jIH dok...._

_..._

_....maj dok......_

_..._   


  


**yIntaHvIS Doy'qu' mInDu'wIj**

  


"You've really put this place together for her.  She'd like this...."  Harry stopped, knowing he wasn't saying anything that was doing any good.  "Carey's got the injector coils and the internal power grid back together.  The warp drive's back on line -- finally." 

"Now, that, she'll like to hear." 

Harry nodded, fidgeted a little, searching for some way to end the eerie silence.  He wasn't accustomed to it with Tom.  "So...How are you holding up?" 

Tom rose a brow towards his friend, though he didn't desist his work.  The younger man was trying hard to be upbeat, trying...trying futilely, as he clearly didn't feel his words. 

Tom offered him an ironic grin.  "It's okay, Harry.  You don't have to be cheery for my sake.  It's a lousy situation and we all know it." 

Harry came nearer to the bed, allowing himself a full look at B'Elanna.  The dermal and follicle regenerations had only begun to return her to her own appearance.  Harry hadn't wanted to see B'Elanna in her condition.  For that matter, Tom had told him over the comm that she wouldn't want anyone to see her like that, either.  Thus, Harry had waited a few extra days before deciding to visit. 

Yet even days after the last operation, she was still unresponsive to any stimulation.  And despite the numerous cosmetic procedures, she looked pretty awful -- her exposed skin looked like paste, her lips were translucent, purplish, and her new hair, still very short, stuck out in ugly sable tufts.  If Harry didn't know better, he still wouldn't have recognized her. 

Tom wasn't looking much like himself, either, understandable as that was.  And watching his friend massage lotion into B'Elanna's flaccid legs was somehow more unsettling than any of the rest. 

"Tom, maybe you should get out for a while," Harry suggested suddenly.  "Come to get something to eat." 

"No thanks." 

A pause.  "Everybody's worried about you." 

"They should be worried for B'Elanna, not me." 

Harry reddened at that.  He almost didn't believe Tom had said what he had.  "Don't you think we are?  The whole crew's been affected by this, Tom, not just you." 

"I know, but...B'Elanna's the only person we should worry about.  That's what I was saying." 

"But you're--"

"I'll be fine."  The silence crept up again, leaving them to their separate thoughts.  Tom laughed humorlessly as he swirled the scented balm around and under B'Elanna's small foot, massaging her heel, and then her arch, her toes.  "Besides, Doc wouldn't dare lose another nurse.  He and I only just started getting along.  He's been looking after me." 

"He's concerned about you, too," Harry pointed out.  "He says you don't sleep, you barely talk, unless it's to her--"

"They say it helps to talk to people in a coma, so I'm saving my voice for her." 

"Come on, Tom -- I'm your friend.  Don't you think I know when you're not telling me everything?" 

"Maybe."  He applied more lotion to his hand, started massaging the other leg.  "But what do you want me to talk about?  What's there to say?" 

Harry shrugged, moved a little closer still.  "Maybe that this is hurting you a lot more than you want to believe.  Maybe that you're putting too much on yourself." 

Tom's hands slowed for but a moment. 

"I'm hurting Harry," he said quietly, "you can believe that."  His fingers kneaded more steadily again, and he felt a muscle jump in his jaw.  He took a breath to steel himself.  "She's the best thing that ever happened to me.  She makes me not care if we ever get home, it's how much I have here." 

"I know."  And there, Kim grinned despite the rest.  "I still remember when I thought you two would kill each other if you didn't get it over with." 

Tom's responding smile was marred only by his downcast gaze.  "Yeah, I remember," he said.  "I wanted her so much -- she was an equal, somehow.  I'd never known someone who could counter me so well.  At least that's what kept me coming back for more..."  He stole a look at her face, somehow ignored the business there.  "And she's so beautiful, Harry, in so many ways...God, I miss looking into her eyes, seeing what she's thinking.  We'd been getting to point where we could tell...."  He concluded the rest to himself, quickly putting himself back to work before going further than he was prepared to. 

The younger man sighed.  "Tom, maybe it's not such a good idea that you stay here all the time.  There's not much you can really do.  You need rest, and I know the Doctor would call you if anything...happened." 

Tom started to feel a little impatient, even if he'd known before his friend wouldn't let up so easily.  "Harry..."  he started.  "If I lost her, I don't know if I could put it back together again.  I'd finally gotten used to the fact that I didn't have to be alone, that she would always be a part of my life."  Tom shook his head shortly.  "I got us into this, I need to know...I have to stay, Harry.  This is where I need to be." 

But Kim was confused.  "What do you mean?" 

Tom barely heard him.  After returning the muscle stimulators to their proper locations, he covered her slim legs, gingerly repositioning her arms above the blanket.  He didn't look at Harry when he said, "B'Elanna's injured, and I'm helping her in every way I know how.  Maybe not just for her, but...Maybe I need to know I've done _everything _I can." 

"B'Elanna wouldn't have wanted to you to go through this." 

Tom froze and braced himself against the flash that passed through him.  Still, he couldn't keep the effect of it hidden when he turned a steady glare to his friend. 

"Harry, I'd appreciate it if you didn't use the past tense as far as B'Elanna's concerned, especially when you're near her.  I don't know if she can really hear us or not -- but I'm not going to take that chance.  She's not dead." 

It was not often -- actually only the second time -- that Harry had ever heard that deadly low tone in his friend's voice.  Tom did not become angry often, and the thought of it, especially then, frightened Kim more than any show of temper B'Elanna could have conjured.  So, he didn't dare say the words that first found him, yet felt within the guilt of thinking it. 

He missed B'Elanna, too.  Everyone did.  Since the accident nine days earlier, the atmosphere on the ship had been dark.  Usually the business of exploring a mineral-rich nebula was a time of excitement.  Losing B'Elanna, and Tom in many ways, too, had made their work instead a needed distraction from the doubly empty feeling on board. 

He had come to see if he could reduce that.  But Tom was plainly unmoved, and looked bitter for the attempt. 

Harry finally relented. 

"Can I bring you anything?" 

"No, thanks," Tom replied, lightly in contrast to his last words.  "We're just fine." 

Glancing back twice to the back of his friend's head, Harry walked slowly out. 

Finished with B'Elanna's legs, Tom began on her arms and hands, carefully removing the electronic patches before starting.  Her back would come last.  It was more difficult because he had to pick her up and turn her over without tangling her limbs or displacing the patches.  It helped if he was a little tired when he did that.  It made him slow down a little. 

The Doctor had still not returned from the science lab, so Tom continued to hum the tune that his friend's visit interrupted.   


* * *

  


"No luck?" 

"He won't budge."  Kim shrugged and helped himself to the drink -- whatever it was -- offered at the counter.  "I guess I don't blame him." 

Neelix nodded his understanding.  "I can't say I do, either." 

The two men looked at each other, and silently accepted the lack of things to say.  It was becoming a common occurrence aside from work, and slowly easier to bear. 

Though Neelix was not as at ease.  "Maybe I should take him something." 

Harry shook his head.  "I don't know, Neelix.  If you do, don't try to cheer him up.  He won't have it.  Besides, B'Elanna...well..." 

Neelix peered at him, curious.  "How does she look?" 

Harry picked up a tray, even though he wasn't hungry.  "Not good."   


  


**nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq 'e' not vIlIj**

  


"I think it's growing out okay, but I still don't know what to do about the waves in it."  Tom had carefully rolled B'Elanna onto her side and was repositioning her arms as he contemplated her hair again.  "I don't have much experience with that -- and B'Elanna never talked about it."  With her securely on her side, her arms tucked before her, her top leg bent out slightly, he felt safe to retrieve the brush from the table.  Once settled on the biobed behind her, he continued his work. 

Still, Tom glanced back.  "When you first met her, was her hair this curly?  When we were in the Maquis, I remember it had a little, not this much, though." 

Chakotay couldn't help the memory that found him, even as he watched Paris brush B'Elanna's all but lifeless head.  Her hair looked like a mass of black silk, short ringlets at the nape topped by a mass of waves, all of which Paris was brushing so carefully, he probably wasn't getting much done.  Not that B'Elanna seemed to notice. 

As he had looked upon the two, Chakotay didn't know where his heart should be -- with his old friend or with the man who had doted on her without pause over past sixteen days. 

Certainly Paris had been the one whose looks had suffered, as hers were gradually being restored.  Though neatly dressed in his civilian clothes, his eyes were hollow, and his mouth had not once found that quirk that always seemed to annoy the commander so faithfully.  The pilot looked exhausted, sounded worn, and B'Elanna's coma had not altered or eased. 

For everything the Doctor tried or examined or suggested, B'Elanna wasn't getting better.  For everything his friends had tried to do for him, Tom wasn't, either. 

Yet suddenly, upon Paris' question, he could see that girl he'd met those years ago, defiantly staring up at him, arms tightly crossed -- young and bright, like a raw wire.  The memory put a shot in his chest...."When it was shorter, I guess there was more curl to it." 

Tom nodded.  "I'll look into it, then.  B'Elanna'd hate to wake up and see it like this."  Slowly, he pulled the brush though her short hair, saying a quiet, "Sorry," every time the brush caught. 

That was more than Chakotay could bear.  "Tom, maybe it's time you started to consider some other options.  It might be for the best if--"

"I'm not ready," Tom snapped, cutting the other man off, "and neither is she."  As if caught off guard by his own reaction, he stopped brushing, placed his fingers on her hair, so soft...  "I'm not giving up on her.  I promised her I wouldn't.  So I won't." 

"Tom, it's been over two weeks." 

Tom snorted.  "I don't care if it's been two months.  Chakotay, you won't change my mind." 

The commander sighed.  He knew Paris would be stubborn.  But Chakotay also knew Tom would have to hear what he knew he didn't want to.  "I'm not saying that B'Elanna should die.  I want her to live just like you do.  But at some point, you're going to have to accept the fact that she might not come out of this, start letting her go.  You have your own life, responsibilities on this ship.  We need you." 

"Consider me on a leave of absence." 

"B'Elanna wouldn't want you to ignore --"

"B'Elanna wouldn't want me to give up on her!"  Tom shot a glare back that time, hot with the fury that he'd suggest..."I swore I'd never leave her, and damnit I meant it!  If you can't accept that -- fine.  But you won't force me to let go.  You can't.  If I'm taking up room in Sickbay, then I'll take her home!" 

The commander took a step closer.  "You know, Tom, I remember a time when I thought you didn't care about anything but yourself.  But I don't know if I like this any more, noble as it may be." 

Tom's eyes narrowed.  "What in the hell are you talking about?" 

"You've gone from one extreme to the other," Chakotay said simply.  "Instead of caring about nothing, you've overburdened yourself with...  B'Elanna." 

"That wasn't was you were going to say," Tom observed. 

"Tom, she might not get better -- ever.  The Doctor says her neural pathways haven't responded to any of his attempts to stimulate them.  You need to accept that she could be like this permanently." 

"The hell I do!" 

"What's gotten into you, Paris?"  the commander asked suddenly.  "I know you care about her, but don't you think it's gone a little too far?" 

Tom rolled his eyes, laughing bitterly.  "You don't understand, Chakotay.  You think you do, but you don't." 

"Then maybe you can tell me why you're doing this What could B'Elanna have said that would make you stay here, drive yourself down taking care of her?  Or is it just you?  Are you so afraid of losing her that you'd keep her like this forever?  How long are you going to keep it up, Tom?  Are you prepared to be her permanent nurse if she doesn't come out of it?" 

At that reminder, the reminder of an idea he didn't want to face, Tom felt himself tremble for holding himself together.  His hand unconsciously clutched the brush, white knuckled.  His voice quieted, became hoarse with repression.  "What are you suggesting, Chakotay?" 

"I'm suggesting you let nature take its course." 

"She's holding her own." 

Chakotay blew a frustrated breath.  "What if she holds her own for a year?  What then?  Are you going to give up your life to take care of her?" 

Tom took a deep breath.  He couldn't lose his precarious edge of control.  He needed to hold on.....  _Hold on to what?_

_ Would you actually give up everything you've worked for to wait for her?  Could you live with yourself if you couldn't?  After all you did to end with her as a permanent part of your life?  -- To what extent is she your blood?  You're the one who waited for her, pursued her all that time, earned her love then encouraged her to take the oath.  How are you going to prove yourself worthy now?  What is courageous now?_

He touched her cheek.  It wasn't warm. 

_Sure, a full-blooded Klingon would've had it over with long ago, but she wouldn't want to be let go, not this soon, not when there's still a chance....Taking care of her with the idea that she'll wake up soon is one thing.  What if it does turn into months?  Are you really prepared to accept the duty of...What is my duty now?....She's my...wife._

Tom turned his eyes once more to the man across the room. 

"I never had anything that I'd give everything up for--sure I'd risk my life, but not _my life,_ my _living_.  Until B'Elanna came in to my life, it all ended with me.  Now there's more...and there was more...I've waited for her before, I'm prepared to do it again.  She's in no pain, she's stable.  It's totally illogical, irrational, maybe even crazy.  But it's my sacrifice to make.  If I end up regretting it someday, then that's my business, not yours.  Do what you need to do, but I've made my decision." 

Chakotay was silent. 

Tom still glared at him.  "She wants to live." 

Chakotay didn't move. 

"If I know anything, Chakotay, if I ever knew anything, she wants to survive.  I know it--and her, I sense it -- I feel it.  She's still here, with me, in me.  So I'm going to wait.  I won't let her go." 

Then, the commander stared at him, more in examination than spite.  "Are you sure you're the one to make that decision?" 

Tom straightened.  Finally, an answer he could give in certainty.  "I'm her mate." 

Seeing Tom turn back to the woman on the bed, the commander also turned and slowly exited.   


  


**not wanI' vIlIj**

  


_ ................_

_....We've gone this far, we should finish it._

_I intend to._

_............._

_...Tom..., you have to claim me.  It seals the o----ATH!_

_..._

_If I'm not mistaken, I think you liked that.....What?  I know that smile...B'Elanna?_

_We're not done yet, Tom._

_I didn't think s--...!..._

_......._

_..._

_......_

_Did we just do what I think we did?_

_If I remember correctly, yes....You had your chance to get out of it....Are you sorry?_

_No.  I'm not._

_...Good._

_..._

_...Tom, you did mean it, didn't you?  That I'm your blood, your soul?  Without condition?  That you...claimed me, as your own?  As your mate--for life?...You do know what it means, right?  That you're bonded to me, responsible for me?_

_Yes, B'Elanna.  And I meant it._

_Good....So, come here...Ah!.....um, Tom, at least can't we go to the be-- ...Mmmm...._

_Hmm?_

_...Never mind._   


  


**nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq**

  


"How long are you going to let this continue?" 

"As long as Tom thinks it's right to."  Janeway leaned back into her chair, signaling Chakotay with a wave of her hand for him to have a seat.  He did.  "I can't force Tom to do anything he doesn't agree to.  I can't order him to give up, no matter how I feel about the situation.  And as long as B'Elanna survives without artificial measures, he won't change his mind.  It's his decision." 

"I don't mean to be indelicate, Kathryn -- B'Elanna's been my friend for a long time, and I want her back, too.  But I don't think Tom has the right to make that decision for her.  Tom might go on for months like this, or longer, and he's already overburdened with it.  And B'Elanna wouldn't want to live like that indefinitely." 

Janeway turned her head, shrugging slightly.  "Well, she must not have said anything of the sort to Tom.  He insists that she'd prefer to hang on, and frankly, I'm still willing to believe there's a chance." 

Chakotay's mouth turned in a knot, and he nodded once.  "I want to believe it too.  But it doesn't solve the official problem, here." 

Janeway paused, patient through nearly a minute of silence before deciding.  This was not the first time she and Chakotay had had that discussion, and she had a feeling it would not be the last, considering his lack of understanding.  She'd wondered why B'Elanna had wanted it kept so private, even from her oldest friend -- and why Tom was in agreement.  But neither would offer any explanation. 

For a human man and a woman who emphasized her human half, they were being very Klingon about their relationship. 

Now B'Elanna couldn't evade the topic herself, and Janeway had heard all about Chakotay's discussion with Tom the week before.  How else could she explain Paris' right -- as much as the young man's decision pained her, too?  As much as she agreed Tom would have to move on someday, that he couldn't hold on forever? 

The well-meant pressure Chakotay was putting on Tom -- and herself -- was only going to get worse. 

"Chakotay, there's something Tom and B'Elanna consider to be a very private matter, that B'Elanna confided to me and the Doctor a few weeks ago, a couple days before the accident..." 

She perused her commander's curiosity, and perhaps the spark of surprise at the thought that B'Elanna would confide in the captain something but not him.  Or perhaps he thought he might have known something was going on behind his back again. 

"....She told us for official purposes only, and I would appreciate it this doesn't leave this room, out of respect for their wishes -- whatever happens.  I think I can trust you to that, can't I?" 

He looked a little put off that she would have to ask, but said calmly, "You've trusted me before, I don't think this would be any different." 

Janeway nodded.  "True."  She put the coffee cup she'd been nursing at aside.  "According to Federation policy, Tom does have every right to make that decision for B'Elanna." 

That time, Chakotay was indeed surprised.  "He does?" 

She nodded slowly, eyeing him.  "Are you familiar with the traditional Klingon Oath?"   


* * *

  


"Lieutenant?...Tom," said the Doctor, pulling a tray into place by sickbay's third resident, as he had come to call him, "I've taken the liberty of replicating your lunch.  I hope you're hungry." 

Tom wasn't, but thanked him anyway.  He had just finished another canto, and his voice was tired.  Hell, _he_ was tired.  Knowing that, he reconsidered his hunger, thinking a little food would help.  He perused the tray, picked up a wedge of a sandwich. 

"So, what do you think of Byron, Doc?" 

"I read all his works," the Doctor replied, making pretense to remain by running a cortical scan on B'Elanna, "when I sought to enhance my programming." 

Tom only nodded, enjoying the sandwich more than he thought he would, and he mumbled that to the Doctor as he ate it.  The older man grinned -- noticeably pleased that Tom had taken the food.  The Doctor had become very helpful, both as a companion and a concerned friend.  Tom hadn't expected it, nor that they would get along as much as they had.  He was thankful, nonetheless. 

After finishing the piece, Tom looked up.  "B'Elanna always liked Byron, too.  But she got me hooked by challenging me.  She said I could never appreciate poetry, the passion of someone like Byron.  It wasn't long after the first time we met -- and boy, was she mad at me that day."  He laughed quietly.  "She didn't know until after we got together that I'd taken up the challenge.  In fact, Childe Harold got me through my worst days at Auckland, reading it." 

"I can see B'Elanna reading Byron," commented the Doctor, sharing the pleasant thought.  "But I never realized, until you were reading it just now, how much Byron reminded me of you." 

"Me?" 

The Doctor shrugged.  "In a way.  You were both self exiled, turbulent, restless, I suppose.  You both have a past..."  There, his grin turned to a smirk.  "You both have a tendency to get in trouble." 

Tom paused with that thought and took a slow, thoughtful breath.  "If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, of hasty growth and blight...and dull oblivion bar my name from out the temple where the dead are honoure'd by the nations--let it be--And light the laurels on a loftier head....And be the Spartan's epitaph on me:  Sparta hath many a worthier son than he...."  Tom looked over to the man, still busy at his examination.  "I hope you don't think I'm still that...Byronic." 

"Well, maybe not so much now."  The Doctor smiled and looked up from his work and quoted, "Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need..." 

Tom nodded for the next line:  "The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted..." 

"...They have torn me, and I bleed..." 

Tom paused, looked down.  "I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed." 

He took B'Elanna hand.  The fingers he held were limp in the air. 

"...In more ways than one," he softly added to himself.  His face contorted with the thought, one that been nagging at him for some time, one that he was only recently coming to accept.  "I got us into this, all right." 

"What?" 

Tom looked at the man, shook his head slightly.  "I was the one who asked her to take the Oath, thinking somehow it would be some kind of guarantee that we wouldn't be separated, that nothing would happen to her.  We rushed into it, not realizing what it really meant.  I rushed into it.  That was a mistake -- not the Oath, but my reasons for getting into it.  I realized that the hard way." 

"You didn't know this would happen," the Doctor said.  "You have nothing to blame yourself for." 

"That's not what I mean....The other day, when Chakotay came here and told me to let her go -- it made me think about it, about a lot of things."  Tom touched his mate's hand, soft and pale.  It didn't react.  He still somehow expected it to. 

"I can't guarantee anything," Tom continued, soft yet assured.  "All I can control is...I've claimed her, I've accepted whatever sacrifices I have to make for her, down to my life.  Being her mate isn't a security blanket, or a symbol of anything.  It's living every day, facing what comes...fighting for her when she can't.  And I'll keep doing that, Doc.  She'd do the same for me." 

The older man regarded the pilot, then.  "Tom, are you certain this is what she wants?" 

"I'm sure she wouldn't like it too much," Tom admitted, "but at the same time I know she'd rather hang on, and that I can't give that up yet.  That's got to be her decision, or her body's decision -- whatever.  Besides, if she didn't want to keep going, she would've given up long before now. 

"I know you could come back at me with a thousand medical reasons why I'm wrong about that -- so I'll just call it instinct.  She's fighting it, Doc.  So I am too.  And we'll keep fighting until we win, or until we finish it, until I know in my heart it's finished.  Call me scared or insecure or in denial.  Call me whatever you want.  But I just can't stop fighting for her yet.  Every fiber in me says I shouldn't until she does.  My life belongs to her right now." 

"Why aren't I surprised?"  said the Doctor, unusually warm and only a little sad, as he turned back to his instrument.  "And with any luck, I'll find a way to reverse the coma.  I haven't given up on her, either, after all.  I'm still looking into those neural redundancies of hers." 

"Yeah, Doc, I know.  And I'm grateful." 

"Just doing my job," the Doctor said lightly. 

Grinning, Tom put aside the PADD, fiddled with the cup of coffee.  The Doctor never made it strong enough and still hadn't, judging from the color.  "You know, we'd better not let Neelix know about the Byron.  I could see it now -- poetry reading by Doc and Paris.  Still, one of these days, maybe we should compare...Doc?  What is it?" 

The Doctor was frowning at the result of the scan, causing a beat in Tom's chest. 

But all the Doctor said was, "Hmm." 

Tom nearly jumped out of his seat.  "What?  What is it?" 

"I don't know.  I'm getting an anomalous reading."  The Doctor gave him a steady stare.  "I'm reading a neurochemical imbalance.  I don't know what it means." 

"That's not a setback, is it?" 

"Let's not jump to any conclusions."  Then he added, straightening a bit, "Not if I can help it." 

When the Doctor moved away, Tom turned back to the woman on the bed, grabbing her hand reflexively.  Three weeks of nothing, then...  "B'Elanna?  What's going on in there?  What are you thinking about?" 

The Doctor had to force his eyes down to the console.  But as soon as he did, he had to look away to see who had come in the door. 

"B'Elanna...." 

Janeway and Chakotay moved quickly to the Doctor, even as they stared at Tom's increasing panic.  "What's going on?"  asked the captain. 

Tom threaded her fingers through her hair, stroked her temple with his thumb.  "Come on, sweetheart...What's happening?..." 

The Doctor sighed quickly, darting a look to Janeway's anxious face.  "I'm not sure.  B'Elanna might be experiencing a sort of neuropolaric destabilization -- it was very sudden."  His mouth and eyes both turned down, and then he focused again on his work. 

"Is that good or bad?"  Chakotay asked. 

Tom kissed her brow, began whispering to her. 

Janeway could feel herself paling, the pit of her stomach churn.  She knew it might happen.  Something had to happen sooner or later.  "Is there anything you can do?" 

"I have to find out what's causing the imbalance first." 

Chakotay sighed.  "Do you think we should do anything?" 

Doc shot the man a stare.  "Without Lieutenant Paris' permission to do otherwise, I will do everything I can to maintain her life."  He sighed with frustration as he added some parameters to the scan.  "As I told Tom, let's not jump to any conclusions.  I don't know if I'll even have to do anything yet." 

Tom stroked B'Elanna's cheek with his forefinger.  "What would you like, B'Elanna?"  he asked thickly.  "What can I do?" 

Chakotay tore his eyes away from the sight and back to the Doctor.  "I get the feeling you agree with Tom about...sustaining her like this." 

The Doctor began to work on the readings, programming a more advanced scan.  "I admit the other options you speak of had crossed my mind in the beginning."  He pushed a button, and the computer began calculate the options the he had set in.  The Doctor then looked back to the couple across the room. 

"But over the last three weeks, I've watched Tom rebut every suggestion that he should give up, that she should be let go.  I've watched him, day and night, talk to her, read to her, attend every need."  The Doctor's eyes found Chakotay's again.  "He's no less dedicated to her survival than in the beginning and truly believes his is the right course of action.  I respect his decision...and yes, I agree with it.  I'll keep trying as long as he does."  That settled, the Doctor turned back to read the results of his analysis.  "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." 

Tom was kissing B'Elanna's hand, and Janeway slowly approached the biobed, tentative to go near, to disturb him, but wanting desperately to help him somehow.  B'Elanna's condition was continuing to take its toll on him, and the captain wanted to be near in case.... 

He caressed her small fingers with his cheek, shuddering slightly.  "We don't know what it is, B'Elanna.  Doc's still checking....You are my mate, and I'll fight right alongside you if that's what you want -- whatever you decide.  It's okay, B'Elanna.  I'm here...." 

Janeway had slowed, feeling a heavy hand on her arm.  She looked up and felt some relief in Chakotay's equal compassion.  So, they both would wait. 

Still, Janeway could not wait there.  She took another step. 

He was whispering to her, caressing her small fingers, which hung loosely over his own.  Both in hope and dread, his sentiments crackled with emotion.  "....I don't think you'd mind that much, would you?...You think it could help?...Would you mind?" 

Janeway wiped the frustrating water from her own eyes, steeled her breath. 

The next sounds stopped her though -- the clear sounds of an odd melody she had never heard, words familiar but foreign, strange in its music.  Tom was singing, so softly she didn't hear at first: 

"nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq  
He botlhDaq nagh tu'lu'pu'  
nagh tu'lu'pu'  
nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq..." 

And then his whisper: 

"...I'll never forget about this happening  
in the life of my eyes very tired.   
I'll never forget that in the middle of the way there was a stone..." 

A pause, and then Tom shuddered a breath, leaning his head into her hand, into her fingers.  "B'Elanna...." 

Then nothing. 

The hum of the consoles, the Doctor's busy fingers on them, and then the bass of the ship in a steady rhythm below it, encompassing the room -- He could hear it all -- His own pained breath above it all, in swallowing the sobs that had threatened for so long. 

And following that breath, the silence asserted itself once more, then the hum....  And almost below that hum..., "eh-k-e...gn"

...Which he had almost not heard, but he pulled his head up.  A numb aura formed around him.  His breath might even have stopped.  The water in his eyes dammed.  All held at bay as he stared, silent and unmoving.  Waiting. 

Nothing.....then: 

"Tm......., ehg eht a..k-g...n." 

He watched her lips, barely moving, his breath quickened with each minuscule movement --"Doc!"-- Her lips parted, trying.  He barely heard his captain gasp in relief behind him.  He could only hear her.... 

"...s-ehn-g eht...ah-k-g-n...Tm." 

"Sing it again?"  he rasped as the Doctor moved to the other side of the bed, tricorder already active.  In the corner of his eye, Tom saw the other man grin.  Tom felt his walls breaking.  The tears, stinging hot, rolled out his eyes... 

...as hers fluttered, moving behind the lids.  As if with an incredible effort, they opened, partly, though directly, to his. 

They were dim, fogged, but he could see her there.  She was still behind them....He knew.  She was looking at him. 

"B'Elanna?" 

The corner of her mouth barely twitched a grin.  "P...pehhs?" 

He gasped a laugh, and a sob followed as he wrapped his arms around her.  He buried his head into her shoulder, shuddering in a sort of relief he had never known and not expected to have taken him completely unguarded.  But it let it all come, kissing her neck, her cheek, her temple, embracing her warm, crying without shame. 

Then suddenly, within it all, he realized she had asked him thrice and nicely and he hadn't answered.  He felt her press, so slightly, against his cheek.  "Tm..."  she breathed. 

"Sure, B'Elanna," he choked.  Pulling his head up, gasping to catch his breath, he reclaimed her hand as he met her gaze again.  "Whatever you want." 

She was staring at him, seemingly confused by his emotion, and she looked as if she was going to ask. 

He quickly shook his head.  "No, B'Elanna, I'm just happy -- relieved as hell and happy."  A smile grew on his face, lighting through the tears, still wet on his face.  "And you say I'm a bad influence on you." 

She looked more curious then, but seemed to accept it for the time being.  Her eyes, opened a little more and brighter with each moment, told him as much. 

Tom reached over to caress her jaw.  His gaze didn't budge. 

She blinked slowly, drawing a small breath.  "h-Wh-....ehh?" 

Tom laughed.  "Slave driver." 

As best she could in a weak breath, B'Elanna giggled.   


  


**nagh tu'lu'pu' He botlhDaq**

  


He'd helped her into bed, removed her slippers and her robe for her, and she sighed deeply as her head sank into the pillow.  She wordlessly watched him take his own robe off, glad that he actually was coming to bed, too.  At last, he was taking a break at it. 

In spite of the muscle stimulators, she was still very weak.  Thus, he had done everything for her that night, and she was still fatigued.  She couldn't help but wonder if she'd come home too soon. 

But B'Elanna had insisted on going back to quarters as soon as she thought the Doctor would allow it and didn't regret it.  She didn't like staying in Sickbay, with all the occasional crewmen roaming in and out.  She cringed to think that people had seen her looking the way the Doctor had finally, per her demand, described to her. 

Her hair was bad enough. 

For that matter, she knew Tom hadn't slept.  He looked worse than she did.  And he refused to leave her.  So she got the Doctor to take pity on him, too.  Twenty minutes later, he released her from Sickbay.  Yet even as she'd gotten home, Tom kept working, dragging but fighting it with every ounce he had left. 

They'd eaten dinner early, a delicious meal Tom splurged on for her.  She had a little trouble with the fork at first, but he reassured her even before she could get discouraged with it.  Somehow, he'd anticipated her frustration.  She wasn't accustomed to being in less than excellent health, and he knew that.  He told her to be patient.  She had little choice but to listen. 

She still swore bitterly when she dropped her food-filled fork for the fifth time. 

For the fifth time, too, Tom picked it up and replaced it, gently suggested she slow down.  Finally she did, forced think about performing that simple, stupid task for the first time she could ever remember.  (How easy it was to forget those things were learned!) Eventually, though, she managed to get herself fed without too much more humiliation. 

Soon after their meal, Tom assisted her with her shower.  At that point, she stared hard at him.  She'd allowed him to help her with eating, but certainly, she thought, she could at least bathe herself, stand in a stall for a few minutes and get clean. 

But he insisted on helping her, even when she resisted.  He_ told _her he was going to help her. 

Talking was still a frustrating, even embarrassing, skill, but she did argue, slurring through her assertions and excuses and accusations, each sentence more garbled and bitter than the last for her agitation. 

But he wasn't too bothered by it -- probably because he was too tired to be.  There was fight in his dark circled eyes without a doubt, but not in his body.  She complained anyway, and he simply turned to recycle the dinner plates then helped her to sit on the edge of the bed so he could remove her shoes. 

"Eh cn d-eht meh-sehh-f," she managed to grind past her tongue.  If anything, she'd worn _herself _out by then. 

"Indulge me," he replied, not stopping, even when his eyes glanced up to hers.  They were dark with intent in that moment's look. 

She knew what it meant. 

She realized then, as he went about his chosen work despite her complaints and debates, that he still needed to, even if he'd done so much already.  She'd been told about his vigil.  As she watched him place her shoes neatly aside, she remembered the descriptions of the hell he'd gone through. 

She couldn't remember her own, nor what she was doing at the time of the accident.  And she couldn't even imagine what the pain might have been like if she could.  All she knew about was the frustration of trying to get her body back, having her mind but not her facilities--though it was assured she gradually would. 

And then there was when she woke up those couple days ago to see Tom crying.  He'd seen it, seen her all the way through.  Waited.  It must have really affected him, she surmised, seeing her like that.  What else might have compelled him to stay at her beside for three weeks?  That wasn't like Tom. 

True, he was a determined man once he set his mind on something and didn't let go once committed to the idea (things she knew all too well and was thankful for).  But he'd never been that stubborn, nor--or more precisely--inclined to physically stay anywhere for so long.  Even love could not have been enough to keep him in sickbay, of all places, without some other cause.  Something else must have gotten to him.  _Either that,_ she thought, _or I've really underestimated his will again._

In either case, it was still true that he had stayed by her, not left her, and he was determined to see his duty through.  He needed to.  So she let Tom have his way, even if he was exhausted, even if it was embarrassing to her. 

Not that she would have complained about his gently undressing her, and then himself, or his steadying her with his own body in the tiny shower's space.  On the contrary, she grinned at that, enjoying his warmth as he ran his fingers through the hair she insisted on having restyled--the very next morning, if possible.  She made a mental note to do that.  If Tom slept in, maybe she could slip away and do it herself. 

Once her shower was finished, Tom sat her on the floor of her bathroom to massage her legs, flirting shamelessly with her all the while, leaning towards her crookedly upturned mouth to kiss her more than once. 

Despite the cheer he gave her, she noted again how tired he looked.  He really was trying.  In another idle moment, she wished he'd take the opportunity and make love to her, being that they were both unclothed and reclined and guaranteed no interruptions.  It was hard to hide the fact that his touches and kisses had aroused them both at least a little. 

Yet, tempting as that was, they went no further.  They both knew she wasn't ready, certainly not strong enough, and he needed rest.  So Tom pulled back, returned the muscle stimulators to her legs, helped her with her nightgown--guaranteeing her a good time as _soon _as possible.  Then he wrapped her warm in her robe, put her slippers on her feet, lifted her to her feet. 

Feeling him strain a little, B'Elanna returned to the thought that he was doing too much. 

But once they had settled to bed, and after he crawled in beside her, kissed her good night, Tom sunk into the pillows and quickly took his leave.  Laying on her side, facing him, B'Elanna watched him fall to sleep within minutes. 

She continued to watch him for some time after. 

_ My mate.  This man is--has been--a true mate...Would he really have not let me go?...Would I want to have been?..._

Either way, it was good to be home, so she put the questions and the number of other things on her mind aside for another day.  It would all be there in the morning, she knew all too well.  So instead, she instead watched him sleep, watched him breathe, very slowly. 

When she felt her eyes begin to close, she crept up and nearer to him as best she could, so to snuggle into his shoulder the way she liked.  Even that was more work than she suspected, though she managed. 

But before she got there, she saw his face twitch, his lips part in some sort of dream--not a pleasant one, she could tell.  Leaning against him for support, she reached out, threaded her fingers through his hair, pushed aside the stray strands, careful not to be clumsy about it. 

"Sssh," she breathed, caressing him softly, "s'ehkeh.  G'behk t'sehp.  Eh shehs' t-dehm-n." 

Drawing a deep breath, Tom turned and, wrapping his arm around her, collected her into his embrace.  He mumbled something. 

B'Elanna closed her eyes.  "S'ehkeh, Tm," she whispered, "Ih m'ehr." 

Resting her head in the curve of his neck, she softly began to hum.   


_(fin)_

**Author's Note:**

> Update:  
> December 21, 1998: A reader was kind enough to write me and tell me that the original, in Portugese, was loosely translated by Mr. Fonesca (quite necessary, considering the Klingon language). My eternal thanks to Ana L.C. for supplying the original poem:
> 
> Carlos Drummond de Andrade; 1928
> 
> No meio do caminho tinha uma pedra  
> tinha uma pedra no meio do caminho  
> tinha uma pedra  
> no meio do caminho tinha uma pedra.  
> Nunca me esquecerei desse acontecimento  
> na vida de minhas retinas tão fatigadas.  
> Nunca esquecerei que no meio do caminho  
> tinha uma pedra  
> tinha uma pedra no meio do caminho  
> no meio do caminho tinha uma pedra.
> 
> In precise English:
> 
> In the way path had it a rock  
> had a rock in the way path  
> had it a rock in the way path  
> had it a rock.  
> I will never forget myself this event  
> in the life of my eyes so tired.  
> I will never forget that  
> in the way path had it a rock  
> had a rock in the way it path  
> in the way path had it a rock.


End file.
